


could be the thing you reach for in the middle of the night

by cori_the_bloody



Series: clexa week 2016 [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bartender Clarke, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Songfic, drunk!lexa, like. gratuitous pining!Clarke, pining!clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7323148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cori_the_bloody/pseuds/cori_the_bloody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most peculiar customer Clarke’s ever served comes into The Arker at the same time every Thursday night—8:40—like clockwork.<br/>written for <a href="http://catty-words.tumblr.com/tagged/clexaweek">clexa week</a> day 7: a song that you associate with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	could be the thing you reach for in the middle of the night

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters or the universe, just having fun with them.  
>  **Author's Note:** This is unbeta'd, so please excuse any errors.  
> [Last Person](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=91YCA4Qwu5s) by Jenny Owen Youngs has always reminded me of modern AU clexa, so I wrote this fic loosely based on the lyrics. This is a day late, but it takes a lot of time to write 10,000+ words. Plus, it's _technically_ still clexa week. So good on me. I hope you guys enjoy!

The most peculiar customer Clarke’s ever served comes into The Arker at the same time every Thursday night—8:40—like clockwork. She always has a book with her, and she always orders a coke.

No alcohol. Just a coke.

She sits alone at the same torn booth in the corner of the bar and reads until 10:15.

Then she leaves.

Clarke doesn’t even know her name.

So when she marches up to the counter and hops onto the last remaining stool—squeezing in between a group of women dressed in matching shirts and a pack of frat boys—Clarke is surprised.

“Can I help you?” she asks after setting down two pitchers of beer in front of the guys.

“Yes. I’d like an Old Fashioned, please,” the girls says, raising her voice just enough to be heard over the din.

Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up. “You know there’s alcohol in that, right?”

The girl jerks her chin up and studies Clarke with piercing green eyes. “I do. That’s why I ordered it.”

“Fair enough. Got some ID?”

She reaches into the back pocket of her black jeans and pulls out a simple, sensible leather wallet before sliding a driver’s license across the sticky counter.

It’s silly, but Clarke closes her eyes as she picks it up, taking her time to appreciate the gravity of the moment. She’s been wondering about this girl’s name since the new semester started and she became a regular, after all.

Once the significance has been appropriately savored, she peeks.

 _Lexa Woods_.

It’s strangely fitting.

With a smirk, Clarke hands the ID back and fixes the girl her drink.

“There you are, Lexa,” she says, letting the name drip off her tongue like thick molasses.

Lexa cocks a single, shapely eyebrow at Clarke but otherwise remains stoic as she tips back the contents of her glass, downing most of it in a single swallow.

The room suddenly feels too hot, Clarke’s skin too tight.

Swallowing hard, she walks away to serve another customer. It’s only then she realizes that she didn’t actually check to see if Lexa was legal.

###

It's nearly 1:30 in the morning by the time Clarke is able to sneak out back and take a break.

The night sky is clear and the air is crisp, raising goosebumps on her bare arms. Though the days have been exceedingly warm—the weather fighting its way toward spring—the temperature still drops below 40 degrees each night.

After working in a crowded bar all night, though, Clarke appreciates the chill.

She perches on the overturned while gallon bucket she’d set outside for this very purpose, leans against the rough brick wall, and pulls her phone out of the front of her apron.

There’s one unread text from Raven, a couple snapchats from Octavia, and an email from her Art History professor about the topic of her final project waiting for her.

She opens the text first and snorts.

It’s a picture of her bed accompanied by the caption _bet u wish u were here_.

Clarke sends her the middle finger emoji.

Raven responds in a matter of seconds with a kissy face.

Rolling her eyes, Clarke types _ur not going to believe what happened 2nite_.

R: _someone broke the urinal?_

C: _that happens all the time. think bigger._

R: _fuck, idk. just tell me._

C: _i now know The Bookworm’s name._

R: _thank god we can finally stop calling her that._

C: _oh, like your suggested title was any better._

R: _calling her nerdy wormy would have been adorable okay??_

R: _hellooooo…i’m waiting…._

C: _it’s lexa. lexa woods._

C: _i gotta get back inside now. See u @ home._

Clarke pockets her phone and takes another second to herself before pushing onto her sore feet.

There’s an hour and a half left till close, and most people have already gone home or moved on to another bar. A large party celebrating a 21st birthday is taking up three tables over by the dartboard and a couple people seated at the counter are the only ones left.

Clarke’s kind of impressed to find that Lexa is one of them, though that quickly turns to worry as, upon closer inspection, Clarke notices she’s sitting unnervingly still.

Must be the five whiskeys she guzzled in three hours.

“Can I get you a water?” she asks as she approaches.

“Don-need one,” Lexa says, slurring.

Clarke lets out a soft sigh of relief and fills a glass with ice. “I kinda think you do.”

Lexa scoffs as Clarke pushes the water against her elbow but doesn’t say anything.

By the time Clarke’s finished checking on the other patrons and wiping down tables, the water still hasn’t been touched and Lexa’s back to sitting immobile as a statue.

Something about the stiff way she’s holding herself tells Clarke to let her be for a while longer.

It’s fascinating, actually, her dedication to motionlessness. Clarke’s able to send off all the other customers, vacuum, mop, and deposit the cash in the safe without disturbing Lexa one bit.

When it comes time to lock up, though, she really doesn’t have a choice.

“Hey, I’m about to close, so…,” she trails off and brushes her fingertips against Lexa’s forearm.

She jerks out from under Clarke’s touch so violently, she nearly falls off the stool, catching herself on the edge of the counter just in time.

“Whoa, sorry,” Clarke says, her brow furrowing.

Lexa glances around in confusion, like she’s just been torn out of a dream.

“Oh…right,” she says after a moment. “What time is it?”

Clarke glances down at her late father’s watch. “Just about 3:30.”

With a groan, Lexa pushes her palms into her eyes and then forces a hand through her hair, flipping the wild mess of curls off her face. “Hmm. Another day slips by,” she whispers.

Clarke raises her eyebrows but decides it’s best not to comment, just waits patiently for Lexa to collect herself.

Once she does, she slides down off the barstool…and almost immediately tips over.

Acting on instinct, Clarke catches her by the shoulders and steadies her.

“Easy there,” she says. “Bet you wish you’d listened to me and had that water, huh?”

Lexa opens her eyes just wide enough to glare at Clarke. Since they’re standing so close, Clarke notices there are flecks of gold around Lexa’s pupils.

She clears her throat and steps away as soon as she’s sure Lexa’s found her balance. She can’t quite keep the grin off her face, though.

“C’mon,” Clarke says, nodding toward the door. “I bet some cool air’ll do you good.”

Lexa’s features soften and she nods, falling into step beside Clarke, who walks with a hand hovering over the small of Lexa’s back—ready to catch her if she starts to fall.

“Do you have someone you can call to come pick you up?” Clarke asks as she locks The Arker’s door behind them.

“That won’t be necessary,” Lexa says.

Clarke gives the door a precautionary tug before rounding on Lexa. “Well I’m sure as hell not letting you drive.”

“I don’t have a car.”

“Okay. I’m not letting you walk home, either.”

“I’m not going home,” Lexa says, swaying drunkenly and tripping sideways as she tries to walk along a yellow parking spot line like a trapeze artist.

“What the hell are you going to do, then?” Clarke demands, lurching forward to catch her by the elbow.

“Dunno. Wander, I think.”

Clarke steps in front of her, cutting off her path. “That’s fucking stupid,” she says, annunciating each word.

Lexa gasps, offended, and her nose crinkles adorably. After stuttering indignantly for a moment, she says, “Who cares what you think anyway?”

“You should, seeing as I’m the sober one here.”

“Well I don’t,” she says, cocking her head defiantly.

“I’m starting to think I should have left you locked in the bar,” Clarke says.

She pinches the bridge of her nose when Lexa blows raspberries at her.

“Okay. You don’t want to go home. That’s fine. But I am _not_ letting you walk around aimlessly. This world is full of shitty people who do shitty things, and I don’t want to live with your death on my conscious.”

Lexa’s face clouds over—eyes dark and nostrils flared—and Clarke finds herself taking a step back.

“Don’t pretend like you care what happens to me,” she says. “You don’t even know me.”

It takes all Clarke’s willpower not to roll her eyes.

“We don’t need to be close pals for me to care whether you live or die.”

Lexa repeats the sentiment back to her in a mocking tone.

“Alright,” Clarke says, nodding. “That settles it.”

Before Lexa can say anything else, Clarke knocks her legs out from under her and catches her in her arms.

“This is a violation!” Lexa yells, squirming.

“You’re a violation,” Clarke says under her breath, tightening her hold.

“Good one,” Lexa says.

After another second of futile struggling, she becomes dead weight in Clarke’s arms.

“Where are you even taking me?” she asks after a moment, clearly pouting.

“Back to my apartment. I have a very comfy couch you can sleep this attitude off on.”

“Kidnapping!” Lexa shouts, wriggling with renewed vigor.

“Would you shut up? I’m doing this for your own good.”

“That can’t be true. This is a classic case of stranger danger.”

Clarke huffs with exasperation and sets Lexa down so she can root through her purse for her keys. “You should have thought about that before you got completely smashed at _my_ bar.”

Just as she’s shoving her key into her old, beat-up Chevy Malibu, Lexa tries to dart away.

Clarke easily catches her by the tails of her plaid button up and then deposits her into the backseat before locking the doors and pulling out her phone. She dials Raven’s cell.

Lexa bangs on the window with her open palm as it rings, and Clarke sticks out her tongue.

“It’s four in the fucking morning, Clarke. What the fuck do you want?” Raven answers.

“Just thought you’d want a head’s up: I’m bringing someone home with me.”

Her tone immediately changes. “Oh my god, are you about to get laid? You fox. Who’s the lucky guy or gal?”

Clarke glances into her backseat to see Lexa tugging ruthlessly on the door handle. She smacks on the door and mouths _you’re gonna break it_.

Lexa grins and says, “Good!”

With a sigh, Clarke turns her attention back to Raven. “Unfortunately, it’s not anything that fun. I’m just taking care of _someone_ who couldn’t hold their alcohol,” she says pointedly. 

Lexa flips her off.

“You’re right. That doesn’t sound fun,” Raven says. “Who is it? Gotta be someone special to merit the full Clarke Griffin compassion treatment.”

“I’ll give you one guess.”

“Holy shit, Clarke, you can’t seriously be implying what I think you’re implying.”

“I’ll be home soon, okay? Leave the kitchen light on for me, will ya?”

“Oh, so you’re just going to ignore my question now?”

“Absolutely. Bye, Raven.”

Clarke hangs up on her protests and walks around to the driver’s seat.

“Ready to go?” she asks Lexa, mockingly sweet, as she turns on the car.

Lexa slumps against the upholstery and crosses her arms. “No.”

“Well put on your seatbelt and get ready. We’re moving on out.”

Clarke waits till she hears the click amongst Lexa’s grumpy mumblings that means she’s buckled, then puts the Malibu in drive and pulls out of the parking lot.

###

They have to pull over on the way home so Lexa can retch on the side of the road—Clarke’s just glad she didn’t spitefully puke in the backseat of her car—so it’s nearly 4:30 by the time she drags Lexa’s limp and sweaty body up three flights of stairs to the apartment.

Though she’s basically dead weight now, Clarke thanks her lucky stars that Lexa’s moved past her bratty phase.

She’s surprised to find that both Raven and Octavia are awake and waiting in the kitchen when she gets the door unlocked.

“Don’t you two have class in the morning?” she says with a grunt as she guides Lexa inside.

“We’re not above skipping for a special occasion,” Octavia says with a smirk. She’s sitting on the counter next to the sink, dipping apple slices into a jar of peanut butter.

Raven’s dressed in her pajamas and leaning against the refrigerator, drinking a bottle of water. Her eyes rove over Lexa from head to toe and Clarke notices that she zeros in on her arm wrapped securely around Lexa’s waist.

“I wanna go home,” Lexa groans, leaning heavily on Clarke.

“Yeah, well, it’s a little late for that. C’mon.” She starts pulling Lexa off to her room, but stops to give her roommates a piercing look. “Don’t bother waiting for me.”

“Sure thing, princess,” Raven says, obviously prepared to stay exactly where she is.

Clarke shakes her head and leads Lexa around the counter and down the hall. Once they’re in her room, she deposits her onto the futon that sits under her lofted bed and turns on her desk lamp.

The room fills with soft, purple-tinted light, and Lexa whimpers.

“I’ll turn it off soon,” Clarke promises.

She hops onto the second rung of her ladder to grab one of the many pillows on her bed and then crouches next to Lexa’s head.

“Do you sleep with more than one pillow?” she asks.

Lexa moans and throws an arm over her eyes. “Why are you being so nice to me when I’ve been such an ass tonight?”

Clarke sighs. “I keep asking myself the same question. Now, do you or do you not sleep with more than one pillow?”

“One is satisfactory,” Lexa says meekly.

“Then lift up your head.”

Lexa does as she’s told, and Clarke sets down the pillow before grabbing the quilt that’s draped on the back of the couch and shaking it out over her. Next, she removes Lexa’s boots and places them in front of her desk.

Finally, she sets a garbage bin within Lexa’s reach.

“In case you have to throw up again,” she explains.

Lexa nods and her eyes droop closed.

“I’m going to get you some water, okay? I’ll be back.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, just turns off the light and leaves the door cracked as she heads back into the kitchen.

Octavia and Raven are waiting for her.

“So that’s the girl you never shut up about?” Octavia asks.

Clarke scoffs and bumps Raven aside with her hips so she can get inside the fridge.

“I don’t bring her up that often.”

“You kinda do,” Raven says. “However, all that babbling and not one mention of the fact that she’s a total babe. I expect better from you. Honestly.”

“Um, I’m pretty fucking sure I told you how gorgeous she is,” Clarke says, grabbing a water bottle.

“Because you’re literally always talking about her,” Octavia says.

Clarke lets the fridge door swing shut and turns to glare at O.

She waggles her eyebrows and crunches down on an apple slice.

“Goodnight, you two,” Clarke says, waving as she pads back to her room.

“We’ll be expecting a full debrief in the morning,” Raven calls after her.

Clarke just laughs as she closes her bedroom door behind her.

###

Clarke’s not sure how long she’s been asleep before she’s awoken by the sound of gagging, but it can’t have been more than a couple hours.

She rolls over in bed and listens closely, selfishly hoping that it’ll pass and she’ll be able to go back to bed.

No such luck. Just as her consciousness is fading once again, she hears the distinct sounds of vomiting followed by some whimpering.

Grumbling to herself, Clarke crawls over to the ladder and descends clumsily.

Lexa’s body is halfway off the futon as she leans over the trash can, heaving. Clarke walks around her and perches on the edge of the couch, slipping the hair tie off her wrist and gathering Lexa’s curls into her fist.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” she says softly, securing her hair into a messy bun and then rubbing a hand up and down Lexa’s back.

In response, Lexa pukes again.

Once it seems like she’s done—for the time being, anyway—Clarke uncaps the untouched water bottle and hands it to her.

“Sip this,” she says before standing and moving into the bathroom to wet a washcloth.

When she comes back, Lexa’s sitting up and the trash bin is in her lap. The water is frozen halfway to her mouth.

“I want to die,” she says, wiping tears from her cheek with her free hand.

“I take it there’s a reason you don’t drink very often,” Clarke says, sitting down and dabbing at Lexa’s sweaty forehead.

She leans into the touch. “What do you mean?”

“You’re obviously a lightweight,” Clarke says, grinning.

Lexa scowls up at her from under her lashes. After a moment, she seems to realize Clarke was kidding and her face softens into a reluctant smile.

They’re silent for a while before Lexa says, “I don’t drink often because I hate being drunk…so loose and out of control.”

Clarke moves the washcloth to the back of Lexa’s neck, and she shudders, letting out a moan.

“So then why’d you drink so much last night?” Clarke asks, trying to ignore the goosebumps that crawl up her arms at the sound of Lexa’s delight.

“To punish myself, I think,” she says quietly.

Clarke wants to ask what she means by that, but she’s pretty sure Lexa wouldn’t tell her.

Instead, she says, “Well, I’d consider you effectively punished.”

Lexa lets out a self-derisive snort and then sets the trash can down on the floor. “I think I’m done for now,” she says weakly.

“Good,” Clarke says, pulling her hand away from Lexa’s neck. “You should try drinking more before you go back to sleep.”

But Lexa’s already sinking down into the futon, and, suddenly, her head is in Clarke’s lap.

For a second, she’s not sure what to do or where to put her hands, but then Lexa’s lips part as she nuzzles into Clarke’s thigh with a contented sigh.

Clarke smiles to herself and sets the washcloth over Lexa’s clammy forehead before carefully undoing the bun and running her fingers through Lexa’s hair.

She resigns herself to staying there for a while and watches as the buttery yellow light of dawn starts leaking into the room, making Lexa’s skin glow.

“Can I ask you something?” Lexa says, starling Clarke, who’d assumed she had already fallen asleep.

“Sure.”

“Your honest answer: why are you taking care of me? My closest friends would never have the patience for this, and we’re passing acquaintances at best.”

Clarke’s hands still in Lexa’s hair and she clears her throat. “Well, uh….”

Lexa opens her eyes and immediately catches Clarke’s stare. She’s once again caught off guard by the rich color, swimming as it is with emotion, and has to look away to answer the question.

“I think my friends would say it has something to do with my compulsive need to take care of everyone before myself.”

“And what would you say?”

Clarke’s gaze falls back to Lexa’s. “Probably that you seem like a lonely person, and lonely people deserve to taken care of. That maybe they need to be taken care of more than anyone else.”

Lexa’s the one to look away this time, tears welling in her eyes.

They're quiet for a bit before Clarke speaks up again.

“Can I ask _you_ something?”

“I suppose it’s only fair.”

“Why do you come to a bar to read, of all things?”

Lexa laughs once. “Would you believe me if I said it’s the only place I _can_ read?”

Clarke gives her a funny look. “Maybe if you elaborate.”

“I’ve been having trouble concentrating for a while. Everything’s always so loud in my brain, but the people in the bar are louder. So…it helps me focus.”

“Oh,” Clarke says, nodding. “I guess that makes a weird kind of sense.”

Lexa smiles and rolls onto her side so Clarke can’t see her face anymore.

“Also, it doesn’t hurt that the bartender is pretty cute,” she says, so quiet Clarke’s not entirely sure she hears right.

Before she can decide whether or not to ask Lexa to repeat herself, her breathing is deep and even.

###

When Clarke wakes again, the sun is high in the sky and there’s a painful kink in her neck.

She’s about to roll over in bed when she realizes she’s actually on the futon, Lexa’s head still in her lap.

With a groan, she does her best to sit up straight and stretch without disturbing Lexa, but as soon as she shifts, Lexa bolts upright.

“Watch out!” she yells and then jerks her head back and forth, looking around the room with a frantic terror in her eyes.

“Hey. It’s okay,” Clarke says, brushing her shoulder with her fingertips.

Lexa moves out from under the touch and lets her head fall into her hands. “Oh god.”

“Are you going to be sick again?”

“Oh god,” Lexa says again, standing with a wince. “I have to go. I’m so sorry I—I just have to go.”

Clarke feels her brow furrow as Lexa hurriedly tugs on her shoes. “Are you sure? I mean, I could make you breakfast or coffee or something?”

“I think I’ve imposed enough. I’ll just get out of your hair.”

“W-what?” Clarke asks. “You’re not imposing.”

“Thanks for making sure I was safe last night,” Lexa talks on. “You didn’t have to do that and I appreciate it. So. Yeah. Bye.”

“Wait!” Clarke says, standing and catching Lexa by the wrist before she runs from the room. “I don’t understand. Are you okay? Can I at least drive you back home?”

Lexa gently extracts herself from Clarke’s grip, looking everywhere but her eyes. “Bye, Clarke.”

Watching Lexa flee gives her whiplash.

###

She doesn’t show up at the bar the following week.

Or the week after that.

Or the week after that.

Clarke starts checking her social media profiles excessively—or, if you ask Octavia, with the intensity of psychotic ex—but Lexa hardly ever posts. When she does, it never gives away anything about how she might be doing or where she might be hanging out on Thursday nights from 8:40 to 10:15.

###

“Maybe that’s her thing,” Raven says as she stirs sugar into her mocha latte, indulging Clarke in yet another conversation on the matter. “Maybe she gets smashed, gets girls to love on her for a night, and then cuts.”

Clarke sighs and sips her iced coffee. “I don’t think she’s like that. Plus, there was exactly zero loving.”

“Look, Clarke, you know I love you like a sister so I say this because I care: you know next to nothing about this girl. You should probably just chalk it up to human weirdness and move on. I don’t like seeing you this wigged out.”

“That’s just the thing,” she says as they settle at their usual table in the student center basement café. “I _am_ wigged. I don’t know how to get un-wigged. I think about her way too much and I replay the events of that night in my head over and over and over again and I just…fucking _can’t_ let it go.”

Raven raises her eyebrows, studying Clarke silently.

“What?” she snaps.

Raven shrugs and says, “Nothing. Just thinking that maybe you two are meant to be together—two crazy peas in a crazy pod.”

Clarke narrows her eyes and throws her balled-up straw wrapper at Raven’s face. “Thanks so much for your support.”

“I do what I can,” she says with a sly grin.

###

Two days later, when Lexa’s the furthest thing from Clarke’s brain, she runs into her at the university library.

She’s sitting at a study carrel surrounded by a pile of books and several paper coffee cups, typing away on a laptop.

Clarke ducks behind one of the stacks and dials Raven’s number.

“Yo, I thought you were not to be disturbed because you, and I quote, ‘really need to actually make progress researching for your Art History final,’” Raven says when she answers.

“She’s here,” Clarke hisses into her phone.

“Who’s where?”

“Lexa’s here. At the library.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Well why the fuck are you calling me? Go talk to her, you loon.”

Clarke takes a deep breath. “I guess I panicked…thought she was a mirage or something.”

She peeks out into the aisle then to make sure she _isn’t_. And, thankfully, Lexa’s still there. Very real and very focused.

Raven snorts into the phone. “You are too much, Griffin. Need a pep talk?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

“Then you called the wrong person. Just talk to her, dummy.”

With that, the line clicks, disconnecting.

Clarke shakes her head in disbelief and then glances over at Lexa one more time.

What will she even say?

_Hi, sorry I did something to scare you off. Let’s talk about it._

_I’m glad you didn’t die._

_Read any good books lately?_

_How about this weather we’re having?_

No, no, no, and no.

Clarke tugs on the end of her ponytail and smooths down the t-shirt she’s wearing. It’s entirely possible that she’s overthinking things and should just go over and say hi…

After taking another moment to steel herself, she walks up to Lexa’s carrel and clears her throat.

“So I guess you decided to see other bars, huh?” she says when Lexa looks up.

Clarke feels shame the second the words leave her mouth. She really should have stuck with commenting on the weather.

Lexa laughs once, out of politeness no doubt, and bobs her head in greeting. “Clarke.”

Clarke gulps and fiddles with the strap of her bag. “I’ve um, missed you these last few weeks.”

Lexa taps her thumb against the spacebar on her laptop and it makes a soft clicking noise. “Yeah, I’ve been…you want the honest answer?”

Clarke looks up hopefully. “Please.”

“I was too embarrassed to face you.”

“I don’t really understand why.”

“For one, I vomited in front of you. Multiple times.”

Clarke waves that off. “I’m a bartender, Lexa. Lots of people puke in front of me.”

“Okay, but I also accused you of kidnapping me and then fell asleep on you.”

“I didn’t mind…well, not the sleeping on me part anyway.”

Lexa ducks her head, her teeth worrying at her lower lip. “That’s very kind of you, Clarke, but you don’t need to lie for my benefit.”

She rolls her eyes picks up the book at the top of Lexa’s impressive stack, needing something to fiddle with. “I’m not lying. I know that night was kind of, erm, unconventional, but I still liked spending time with you. You should give me your number, so we can schedule a time to hang out in normal circumstances.”

“I-I don’t know. There’s a lot going on in my life right now, and I’d rather just—”

“What?” Clarke cuts her off. “Not talk to people?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Clarke, and I’d appreciate it if you’d—”

“That’s just the thing!” Clarke says, way too loud. She’s shushed by the other people studying nearby.

She lowers her voice and continues.

“I’d _like_ to get to know you, Lexa.”

Lexa looks down at her lap.

“Here’s the deal,” Clarke says. “I have a feeling you’re pretty stubborn, but you’ve got nothing on me, I promise you. I once gave my own damn mother the cold shoulder for a month because she made me take some horrid cough syrup when I was sick.”

Lexa glances up at her, quirking an eyebrow.

“I was six, mind you. I’ve had nothing but time since then to perfect my fortitude.”

“Clarke.”

“Hold on, I’m not done pitching.”

Lexa sighs but gestures for her to continue.

“I am pretty determined to get your number. You don’t want to see the lengths I will go to in order to do it. I’m not an asshole, though, so if you look me in the eye and tell me that the very idea of talking to me regularly disgusts you, I’ll back off.”

“Of course you don’t disgust me,” Lexa says.

“Well then it’s settled,” Clarke says, pulling out her phone and handing it to Lexa.

After a moment of hesitation, she takes it with a disbelieving chuckle.

“You are a very strange person,” Lexa says as she enters her cell number into Clarke’s phone.

“Hey now, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Clarke says with a wink.

A blush rises in Lexa’s cheeks and she smiles at her computer screen.

“I have a feeling that’s about to change.”

###

Next Thursday, Lexa pushes up to the counter at The Arker at her regular time.

Clarke’s arguing about the price of the IPA on draft with a douchey Philosophy major, but she glances over just as Lexa settles onto one of the stools, a book in her hand.

“That’s the price, dude. Take it or leave it,” she says.

“Fine,” the guy grumbles.

Even though there are plenty of other customers vying for Clarke’s attention, she walks over to Lexa after she sets the pitcher of beer down in front of Philosophy douche.

“Look who showed up,” she says, leaning in.

“I told you I was going to,” Lexa says.

“And I told you I’d believe it when I saw it.”

Lexa smiles down at her hands, shaking her head.

“What can I get you?” Clarke asks. “A coke?”

“Please.”

Lexa takes a seat at her usual booth after she’s been served, and Clarke goes back to being a dutiful customer service wench.

Every now and then—when someone starts chanting _chug_ obnoxiously or there’s a spill or a drunken fight—Clarke’ll feel someone’s eyes on her. She turns to find Lexa giving her a private roll of the eyes or wry smile.

It makes Clarke feel like she’s just run a marathon; such is the racing of her heart.

Once things finally slow down enough for her to take a break, she slides onto the upholstered bench across from Lexa.

“How’s your book?” she asks.

“It’s a detailed historical outline of the rise and fall of the Ottoman Empire,” Lexa says.

“So…dense? Dull?”

Lexa laughs. “Hardly. Well, no, it is very dense, but it’s the furthest thing from dull. Every year or so there’s another coup.”

Why does Clarke find it so cute that this girl’s excited about death and destruction?

“You Political Science majors and your uprisings and rebellions,” Clarke teases, shaking her head.

“Coups are quite fascinating. Any change of power is, really. There’s just so much at work—so many moving pieces—and yet state infrastructure is able to stay intact throughout the upheaval. Then, of course, there’s the moral question—can any one person or group of people better represent the needs and wants of an entire nation? You’d think we’d learn from history and…oh, god, I’m boring you on your break.”

“No, you are absolutely not,” Clarke promises. And it’s true. Though she’d be hard-pressed to repeat anything Lexa just said, she was definitely more than entertained by the excited gleam in her eye.

Lexa grins at her. “I don’t believe you. Let’s talk about something else.”

“C’mon, Lexa, you can trust me. I’m not a liar, but I am a total brat when I’m bored.”

“And that’s different from the way you are all the time how…?”

Clarke gasps with offence and kicks Lexa’s shin under the table.

“Fine, meanie, we’ll talk about something else. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

Lexa’s eyes widen and she starts to shake her head, so Clarke elaborates.

“Octavia, Raven, and I were going to catch the first night of the music festival their hosting on the hill outside Keller Hall. We wanted to know if you’d go with us.”

“Oh,” Lexa says, exhaling with relief. “Well, I have a shift at the campus bookstore…”

“I see,” Clarke says, trying to quash her disappointment. Still, she can’t help feeling a little hurt that Lexa’s first reaction to a date with her is panic.

Lexa misreads her expression and is quick to add, “I could meet you guys afterward, though. I get off at 7:30.”

Clarke smiles and slips out of the booth. Her break’s just about up.

“Only if you want to,” she says, staring down at her feet. “I have to get back to work, though. Enjoy the Ottomans.”

She feels Lexa’s stare on her back as she slips behind the counter, but when she glances over at the table a few minutes later, Lexa’s gone.

###

“God, Clarke, you used to be fun at stuff like this,” Octavia yells at her over the booming bass of the music. “Now you’re Sulky McBroodpants.”

“Aw, O, that’s not very nice. You know she’s bummed that Lexa gave her the brushoff,” Raven says, elbowing Octavia in the side.

“Not exactly. She totally said she would come. She just wasn’t _committed_ enough or something,” Octavia says, waggling her eyebrows at Clarke to show she’s kidding.

Clarke sighs. She knows her friends mean well, but her heart just isn’t in the concert.

“I think I’m going to go back to the blanket,” she says, already pushing through the mass of jumping bodies.

Once she gets to the spot they’ve claimed on the hill and sits down, her phone buzzes in the pocket of her jeans.

The message that just came in is from Raven asking if she’s okay, but Clarke also has an unread message from Lexa, sent about fifteen minutes ago.

L: _where are you guys?_

Clarke scans the area hopefully till her eyes finally land on Lexa, leaning against a statue and looking rather uncomfortable. She’s dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, clearly fresh off her shift at work.

The setting sun catches her hair just right, and it looks as though it’s shimmering.

Grinning, Clarke skips over—literally skips, for no other reason than she feels like skipping—and taps Lexa on the shoulder.

“You made it,” she says.

Lexa jumps, but then her face relaxes into a smile when she sees Clarke. “I did. I fought many an evil lanyard and textbook to be here.”

“You are a brave warrior indeed.”

“Where are your friends?” Lexa asks, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

“Somewhere in there.” Clarke points at the dense crowd gathered around the foot of the stage, and Lexa frowns distastefully. “We’ve got a blanket on the hill, though. We can rest there until they come back.”

“Sounds nice,” Lexa says, following after her.

They sit next to each other, their legs stretched out in front of them and their thighs just barely touching.

“How was work?” Clarke asks, as the current band’s set comes to a raucous conclusion.

“I had to untangle a lot of graduation cap tassels,” Lexa says, holding her hands in front of Clarke’s face and wiggling her fingers.

“You poor, overworked soul,” she says, catching one hand and kissing the pad of Lexa’s pointer finger.

Lexa’s face turns bright red.

“Clarke!” Octavia calls, running up to the blanket then. “You’re not going to believe who just hit on Raven.” She skids to a stop when she sees that Clarke has company. “Oh, hey, Lexa; you made it. See Clarke, all that pouting for nothing.”

Lexa glances at Clarke, eyebrows raised, and Clarke feels color flood into her cheeks.

“What’s this about someone flirting with Raven?” she asks, quickly moving the conversation forward.

“Right, so, we’re out there dancing, and some dude gets behind her and starts grinding on her. Guess who it was?”

“That persistent asshole, Finn?”

“Not even. It was my fucking brother!”

“Bellamy? You’re kidding!”

“I kinda wish that I was. Talk about classless.”

“So where is she now? Still with him?”

“Please,” Octavia says, snorting. “She may have a raging crush on him, but she also has self-respect. Apparently the event staff was having trouble setting up the fireworks and they asked for her help.”

“Raven excels at blowing shit up,” Clarke says, turning to Lexa to explain.

Lexa grins gratefully. “That’s a very specific skill to have.”

“Her goal is to work for NASA,” Octavia says. “She’s a Physics major with a minor in Engineering.”

“Our little genius,” Clarke says.

“So,” Octavia says, sitting down next to Clarke and leaning over her to look at Lexa. “Clarke tells us you’re into PoliSci. What do you want to do with that?”

“One day I’d like to run my own non-profit geared toward helping foster kids make it through the school system.”

“Cool,” Octavia says, nodding approvingly. “I'm a Psych major, and I'm going to council abuse and neglect victims. That's the dream, anyway.”

“Sounds like we have similar interests,” Lexa says.

Octavia smiles and nudges Clarke in the side.

Raven runs up to them then and falls into a sitting position next to Lexa.

“Hey guys…Lexa! Good to see you.” She pauses and fully takes in Lexa’s appearance. “Oh my god, look at how cute you are—working girl chic.”

Raven pinches the point of Lexa’s collar and grins brightly at her. Lexa leans away from the touch and shoots Clarke an alarmed look.

“Oh, sorry,” Raven says, immediately pulling her hand away. “Too touchy, huh? It’s just that Clarke spends so much time talking about you, I feel like I already know you so well.”

Clarke clears her throat purposefully, gritting her teeth and making a mental note to kill both of her friends later.

“Did you enjoy your little grind session with Bellamy?” she asks as menacingly as possible.

“I didn’t not enjoy it,” Raven says, cocking her head sweetly at Clarke. “Too bad it was cut short because people were in need of my brilliant brain.”

“You got everything patched up?” Octavia asks.

“Yup. Should be quite a show.”

“Our tuition dollars at work,” Lexa says wryly, smiling at Clarke, who immediately grins back.

When both Raven and Octavia chuckle appreciatively, Clarke feels her grin crack wide open.

Just as twilight gives way to darkness, the final band—a well-known group made up of Richmond U students—starts playing their set. The girls sit, bobbing to the music and watching as students run around on the green playing Frisbee, tackling each other, and generally being rowdy.

During the resonating chords of the last song, the firework show starts without warning.

Lexa jumps and clamps down tightly on Clarke’s hand as the first boom resonates through the open space.

They turn to each other at the same time and, even in the strange lighting, Clarke can tell Lexa’s blushing. She raises her eyebrows and rubs her thumb along the joint in Lexa’s, trying to be reassuring.

Lexa breathes in deep and lets the air out slowly through pursed lips before nodding at Clarke, signaling that she’s okay. She doesn’t take her hand back, though.

Clarke gives it a squeeze.

“Sure is beautiful, all those ‘sploding chemicals,” Raven says.

Lexa glances back up at the sky and a mesmerized smile spreads across her face.

“Yeah,” Clarke says, still watching Lexa. “Beautiful.”

###

Clarke and Lexa have been in Clarke’s room for nearly four hours, prepping for finals.

It’s been almost forty minutes since Clarke finished typing up the paper that’ll go with her Art History sculpture and started helping Lexa study for her Arabic exam with her homemade flashcards.

When they’re about to flip through the sizeable stack for the third time, Clarke moans and slams the cards down on her desk. “If we don’t take a break, I’m going to lose it.”

Lexa throws a pen cap at her forehead. “No, please, just once more. I really need to make sure I know everything.”

“Nope,” Clarke says, deftly catching the cap and throwing it back at her. “I am cutting you off. No more seriousness for Lexa. Dr. Clarke prescribes fifteen minutes of goofing around.”

“Clarke, please,” Lexa says. “I promise if you go through the deck with me one more time, we can goof around until you leave for your shift at The Arker.”

“You can’t just do it when you go home? My brain is fried.”

Lexa frowns and ducks her head. “The process is much more effective with a second person.”

“Fine,” Clarke says and starts to shuffle the cards. After a moment of silence, she asks, “Where do you live anyway? You never talk about it…or invite me over.”

Lexa bites her bottom lip and shrugs one shoulder. “It’s, um, a rather dreary place to live.”

“That’s not an answer,” Clarke says, leveling her with a sharp stare.

With a reluctant sigh, Lexa says, “I live in a single over at Polis Towers.”

Clarke’s nose wrinkles. “That rundown complex across from campus that always smells like weed?”

“The very same.”

“Now I know why you always want to spend so much time over here.”

A blush crawls up Lexa’s chest and neck and she licks her lips. “Right.”

“You know I’m kidding,” Clarke says and then busies herself picking imaginary lint off her knee. “I like having you around.”

“Well, I like being around,” Lexa says.

“Good.”

“Mhmm.”

“So, uh, once more unto the breach?” Clarke asks, holding up the flashcards.

Lexa clears her throat and nods primly. “Thank you.”

###

A bunch of Greeks pool their resources to throw a lakeside, end-of-semester bash the Friday night of finals week, so Lexa meets Clarke, Raven, and Octavia at their apartment at sundown so they can all go together.

She shows up wearing a simple, thin, white tank top tucked into dark jeans, which are tucked into her well-worn boots. She’s smoothed out her curls so her hair flows softly to her waist, and her black bra stands out in stark contrast to her light shirt.

Clarke practically chokes when she opens the door.

“You look…good,” Clarke says, unable to keep herself from staring.

“Uh, thanks.” Lexa says, fiddling with the charm of her necklace and eyeing Clarke’s outfit—a skirt that falls mid-thigh and a lacy crop top. “You too. You look good, too.”

“Christ,” Octavia says as she walks out from her room. “Just kiss already.”

They both blush.

The party is in full swing by the time they get to the lake. A large bonfire sits off to the left of the shore, surrounded by kegs, and all four of them are handed beers shortly after arriving.

A booming stereo’s been set up on one of the picnic tables. There’s also a game of volleyball going over by the sandpit and a few kids kicking a soccer ball around in the grass.

Mostly, people are grouped off, drinking and socializing.

They’ve hardly been there for five minutes before Raven wanders off to find Bellamy and Octavia joins the people playing soccer, leaving Clarke and Lexa alone.

Not that Clarke minds.

“You want to take a lap around, see if there’s anyone worth talking to?” Clarke asks.

Lexa nods.

They eventually end up on the outskirts of the activity, huddled close together on the shore of the lake and sipping their beer.

“So,” Lexa says after a moment. “How’d your presentation in History of Architecture go?”

Clarke raises her eyebrows and bumps Lexa’s shoulder with her own. “You really want to talk about school right now?”

Lexa stutters for a moment. “Well, no, I suppose not.”

Clarke laughs and sets aside her beer so she can lean back on her palms. “The presentation went fine, by the way.”

Grinning, Lexa bumps Clarke back. Then her face clouds over and she frowns thoughtfully. “Will you be going home…now that it’s summer?”

“Nah. I love my mom, and I’ll probably go visit her a bit, but I enjoy my solitude and independence waaaaay too much to ever move back in with her. Even for three months at a time. What about you? Do you have somewhere to go home to, or are you stuck in that dingy apartment all by your lonesome?”

“Mark me down for dingy and lonesome,” Lexa says jokingly.

“You should come stay with me,” Clarke says. “You know, when your apartment gets to be too much. _Mi futon es su futon_.”

“Thank you. That’s a very generous offer.”

They sit in content quiet for several minutes, watching moonlight shimmer on the water’s surface. It’s the perfect night for a party, really—the sky is clear, the air is warm but not sticky, and there’s a pleasant breeze.

Clarke sighs, totally at ease, and glances over at Lexa. She’s looking up at the moon, and a light wind sweeps by them, ruffling her hair.

A strand gets stuck on Lexa’s lip-balm covered lips, and, acting on instinct, Clarke reaches over and tucks it back behind her ear.

Lexa turns her head and Clarke’s hand sinks further into Lexa’s hair.

As Lexa meets her gaze, her lips part.

The rest of the world—the shouting people, the thrumming music—it all fades out of Clarke’s awareness until it’s just _Lexa, Lexa, Lexa_.

She leans in, dragging her thumb along Lexa’s cheekbone, and—.

“I’m going to see if they have coke or water or something that’s not beer,” Lexa says, pulling away and scrambling to her feet.

“Oh, sure, okay,” Clarke says, feeling a horrid sense of déjà vu as Lexa runs away from her.

###

As the next hour passes, Clarke inserts herself back into the party and tries to forget entirely about the almost kiss.

She’s actually starting to enjoy herself as she chats with Jasper and Monty, two guys she met in the world history class she had to take her second year.

They’re discussing the new buildings that’ll be going up around campus when a disturbance on the other side of the clearing catches her attention. A crowd is gathering and some people have started chanting “Fight, fight, fight!”

Jasper and Monty share a loaded look, and Clarke shakes her head. “Go,” she says, dismissing them with a wave of her hand.

“Cool,” Jaspers says.

“We’ll be back,” Monty promises.

Clarke watches as they jog over to take in the spectacle. She’s about to go get another beer when a voice carries across the party and catches her attention.

“Don’t act all high and mighty, Lexa. You know it’s your fault she’s dead.”

The actual meaning of the words don’t register. All Clarke knows is that Lexa’s in the midst of a confrontation, probably extremely uncomfortable and flustered.

She runs over to the crowd of people and elbows her way to the front.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Lexa says, trying to push past the girl who’s yelling at her. “Please just let me leave.”

The girl has a series of poorly-healed scars on her face, long, dark hair, and a cold look about her that stops Clarke in her tracks.

She grabs Lexa’s upper arm tightly when she tries to walk away and snarls at her. “No, you have to stay and answer for yourself. How do you sleep at night, Lexa, knowing that if you hadn’t been such a bitch, Costia would still be alive?”

Lexa tries to jerk out of the girl’s hold. “Let me go, Ontari,” she says, her voice low and menacing.

“Not till you answer me, you heartless shrew.”

Lexa sighs, resigned, and then does something that flabbergasts and charms Clarke in equal measure: she punches Ontari square in the nose.

She pauses a moment to wince apologetically and then takes off running, easily pushing through the surprised crowd.

“You _bitch_ ,” Ontari spits, cupping her nose in one hand.

Clarke takes a split second to ensure someone else goes to Ontari’s aid, and then she takes off after Lexa.

She makes it through the packed cluster of people just in time to see her running into the woods on the other side of the clearing.

“Shit,” Clarke says under her breath before following.

Not surprisingly, the woods are dark and loud, filled with chittering squirrels, squawking birds, and chirping crickets. Clarke makes it just through the tree line before she trips on a gnarled root protruding from the ground.

“Lexa?” she calls into the pitch blackness, pulling out her phone and turning on the flashlight app. “Lexa, where are you?”

“Leave me alone,” she answers from somewhere off to Clarke’s left. Her voice sounds thick, like she’s crying, but thankfully it’s not coming from too far away.

“Yeah,” Clarke says, walking in what she hopes is Lexa’s general direction. “I’m not going to do that.”

“Didn’t you hear? I’m a murder, Clarke. Murders don’t deserve comfort. They deserve to feel lonely.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and steps up to where Lexa’s sitting on the ground and leaning against the trunk of a tree. Her legs are tucked in close to her body and she’s resting her forehead on her knees.

Turning the light on her phone off, Clarke crouches in front of Lexa and places a tentative hand on her forearm.

Lexa doesn’t pull away.

“What’s going on, Lexa?”

Groaning, Lexa lifts her head. Clarke can barely make out her expression—her eyes are still adjusting to the darkness—but she notices tear tracks glistening on Lexa’s cheeks.

“You heard Ontari. I’m—”

Clarke cuts her off. “I know what that girl said, but, amazingly, I don’t give a fuck. I want to hear it from you. What happened?”

Lexa sucks her lower lip into her mouth, her eyes searching Clarke’s face. After a moment, she nods.

“You may have noticed that I’m a fairly guarded person.”

Clarke laughs once. “I might have picked up on that, yeah.”

“That wasn’t always the case.”

Clarke waits patiently for her to continue.

“I met Costia my first year here. She sat down next to me in our English class one day and just started talking to me like we were already friends. She had this warmth that made you feel comfortable around her right away, and we were dating by the end of the month. Actually, the night we met—the night I got wasted—would have been our anniversary.

“Things were mostly good between us, except that Costia had a flourishing social life and I pretty much just had Costia. It bred…a certain amount of animosity, jealousy. It wasn’t fair of me, but I was very protective of her. She was the best thing in my life and I wanted as much of her to myself as I could have.

“So anyway, we went to this party toward the end of last semester. It was mostly attended by Costia’s friends, and I had promised to be the designated driver. So, there I was, surrounded by a bunch of drunk people I didn’t know very well—I was crabby, feeling isolated—and I walked in on Ontari and Costia, well. Now I know they were just talking, but at the time I had mistaken what I saw for something far more intimate.” Lexa pauses and takes in a shaky breath. Clarke can see fresh tears welling in her eyes. “We fought. I stormed out. She got behind the wheel of a car that night and crashed. She died on impact.”

So much of Lexa’s hesitation from the past several months suddenly makes sense to Clarke.

“Lexa,” she says. She wants to add something else: say sorry or assure her that Costia’s death isn’t her fault. She knows how insincere it would sound, though.

“Ontari was with her. Those scars on her face, they’re from the windshield shattering, cutting her up.”

Clarke hums somberly and cups Lexa’s face in both her hands. She uses her thumbs to scrub away the falling tears.

“I should have stayed to drive her home, Clarke. No matter how indirectly, I am responsible for her death.”

“No.” Clarke shakes her head. “You couldn’t have known she’d drive drunk, Lexa.”

A sob rips from Lexa’s chest and she falls forward into Clarke, who wraps her arms tightly around her shoulders.

“But I should have been there to stop her,” Lexa says, sniffling. “I should have been there.”

Clarke holds Lexa silently, letting her cry. She knows all too well that someone just being there is often the most soothing comfort of all.

###

The next morning, Clarke walks through the unsecured doors into Polis Towers, an obscenely large bouquet of peonies, red tulips, Stars of Bethlehem, prairie gentians, geraniums, camellias, and white carnations in her arms.

She takes the rickety—and, frankly, terrifying—elevator up to the third floor, and then stops in front of Lexa’s room, taking a moment to collect herself before she knocks.

Lexa answers the door in plaid pajama pants and a tank top. Her eyes are puffy and rimmed red, but she musters a smile when she sees Clarke.

“What’s this?” she asks.

“I’ve got a whole thing planned,” Clarke says. “Invite me in.”

Lexa cocks her eyebrow but steps aside, giving her silent permission to enter.

The room is very simple. The only pieces of furniture are a bed, pushed under the window, and a desk, tucked into the far corner and blocking one of the large closet’s sliding doors. Two tiny plants sit on the windowsill, as well as a stack of novels, and the floor is clean and clutter-free.

Lexa moves past Clarke to sit cross-legged on her bed.

“Well?”

Clarke clears her throat. “These are multi-purpose flowers,” she says.

“Oh?” Lexa tilts her head curiously.

“Yes. Their first purpose is pretty straightforward: dreariness combaters.”

Lexa grins but doesn’t say anything, just waits for Clarke to continue.

“Their second purpose is metaphorical. See, flowers often represent new beginnings in literature. Rebirth and growth and all that. You gotta give yourself time to go from a seed to a fully bloomed flower again, but someday soon you’re going to feel beautiful and whole and…flowery.”

A surprised laugh escapes Lexa and she covers her mouth, cheeks flushing.

“Yeah, so that metaphor only goes so far. You still know what I mean though, right?”

“I do, but Clarke—”

“Wait a second,” Clarke says, holding up a finger. “There’s one more purpose.”

“Okay.”

“Consider these flowers my grand romantic gesture to be.”

Lexa’s brow furrows, but Clarke doesn’t give her time to interrupt. She rushes on.

“I know what it’s like to feel responsible for someone’s death,” she says. “My dad died the summer between our first and second year. He worked at this government funded lab that developed exploding devices to be used in combat, so it probably shouldn’t be a surprise that he died in an accidental explosion.”

“Oh my god, Clarke,” Lexa says, shaking her head in disbelief. “That’s…”

“Really shitty. I know. The kicker is that, even though he was usually really careful about following all the safety rules and keeping me away from all the dangerous chemicals, he’d brought me inside to sit with him the day he died. I had just gotten home, and he was so happy to see me…Anyway, curiosity got the better of me, right? I started looking around while we talked. Nothing really happened and I was long-gone by the time anything exploded, but I’m always going to wonder if I screwed something up or knocked something over without noticing. I’ll never be completely sure that I _didn’t_ cause the accident that cost my dad his life.

“So, even though your situation is completely different, I can still understand what you must be feeling. I get that you need time and space to feel like you’re not a walking disaster. What I’m trying to say with these flowers is, I’ll wait. I want to be there when you feel ready to move forward. These aren’t a ‘date me now,’ they’re a ‘date me whenever you feel ready’.”

Lexa gives Clarke a wide-eyed look so warm and grateful that she has to look away.

“Okay, I’m done talking now,” she says. “You can tell me to shut the hell up and get out of your apartment.”

But Lexa doesn’t tell her either of those things. She stands, grabs the flowers from Clarke, and sets them on her desk before wrapping her arms around Clarke’s shoulders and burying her face in Clarke’s neck.

With a relieved sigh, Clarke squeezes her around her waist and nuzzles her nose into Lexa’s hairline.

As they stand like that for an infinite moment, silent and clinging to each other, a stabilizing peace washes over Clarke.

She feels lighter than air.

###

The Arker is always slow in the summer. Since most of the students are home, Clarke really only sees her townie regulars.

And even they don’t show up sometimes, as is the case with this particular Tuesday night.

Since Clarke and Lexa are alone, she lets Lexa behind the counter and starts teaching her how to mix drinks.

“What do you want to make next?” Clarke asks before polishing off the Cosmopolitan they just finished mixing.

She’s starting to feel loose and sleepy.

“Hmm, teach me how to make a mojito,” Lexa says, ducking down to get the lime slices out of the mini fridge.

“Okay, but this is going to be the last one unless you start drinking, too. I’m not technically supposed to get drunk on the job.”

“Technically?”

Clarke shrugs. “Sometimes it helps.”

Lexa laughs and tosses a lime slice at her. It hits her chin and then falls into her V-necked uniform shirt.

Clarke shrieks. “Fuck, Lexa, that’s cold as fuck!”

She bounces up and down, trying to dislodge the intruder, but it seems to be stuck in her bra.

By the time she finally fishes it out, Lexa is hunched over, laughing so hard her face is deep red.

“Oh, you liked that, huh?”

“Your face!” Lexa says, pointing and dissolving into a new fit of laughter.

“You’re going to pay for that,” Clarke says, grabbing onto the sink hose and spraying Lexa with water.

She yelps and turns her back. “No! Stop! Clarke, watch out for my book, you’re going to get it wet!”

“Well you should have thought about that before laughing at my misfortune,” Clarke says, making sure to douse Lexa from head to toe.

All of a sudden, Lexa turns and lunges for her. She turns off the sink and then wrestles away the hose, pinning Clarke against the counter and collecting both her wrists in one hand.

They’re both panting, and Lexa’s dampness is starting to seep into the front of Clarke’s shirt.

Inexplicably, the wet puppy look works for Lexa. Her hair is stringy and sticking up at odd angles, but she looks adorable. Clarke smirks.

“Gotcha,” she says.

In response, Lexa licks her lips. Clarke’s eyes are drawn to the movement.

When she looks back into Lexa’s eyes, they’re dark and her pupils are wide.

“I, um,” Clarke stutters, not quite sure what she’s about to say.

Lexa flashes her an evil grin and then, with lightening quick movements, she uses the glass Clarke got out for the mojito to scoop up some ice and dump it down Clarke’s shirt.

Her responding scream resonates through the empty bar.

“You little shit!” Clarke says breathlessly, shaking the ice out as quickly as she can while Lexa cackles at her. “This means war.”

She grabs a warm can of ginger ale and starts rattling it around.

Just as she’s about to pop the tab, though, Lexa’s hands are on her hips and she’s backing Clarke up against the counter again. Before Clarke can protest, Lexa’s kissing her, hard and needy.

Clarke moans into Lexa’s mouth and grabs ahold of her neck while Lexa’s hands push under Clarke’s shirt, finding the small of her back and dragging her forward so they’re flush against each other.

When they pull apart, both desperate for air, Lexa rests her forehead against Clarke’s and laughs once.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” she says. “I was just waiting for the right moment.”

Clarke toys with the soft curls at the nape of Lexa’s neck. “Liar. I think you’re just a big cheating cheater.”

“Oh yeah? Would a cheating cheater do this?”

She steals another kiss and then grabs onto the forgotten can of ginger ale.

“Don’t you da—”

Clarke doesn’t get to finish protesting before Lexa pops the tab.

### Epilogue ###

It’s just after four in the morning when Clarke gets home from her shift at The Arker. She trips sleepily into her bathroom to brush her teeth and scrub the makeup off her face, deciding against a quick shower.

Since she’s taking her first full load of upper-division credits, classes have been kicking her butt. Between school and her job, she’s almost always exhausted, and there’s not nearly enough time for the things she actually _wants_ to do.

“Clarke?” Lexa asks, her voice gravelly with sleep.

“Yup. I’m comin’ up,” Clarke says, pulling her sore body up the ladder. She slips over Lexa’s legs and slams her elbow into the wall as she settles into her spot.

Lexa immediately snuggles closer and Clarke drapes her arm over Lexa’s waist.

“Missed you,” she says into Clarke’s neck.

Clarke kisses her forehead. “I feel like we're always missing each other lately.”

“Mmm, I wish we could go back to summer.”

Clarke shivers as she recalls their many summer days spent entirely in hers or Lexa’s bed. It makes her ache with nostalgia.

“Where's your phone?” she asks.

Lexa fumbles in the dark for a moment before setting it on Clarke's cheek.

“What are you doing?” she asks, squinting as the screen lights up.

“Turning off your alarm for tomorrow.”

Lexa props herself up on her elbow. “Clarke, I have my Econ class tomorrow. I'm already struggling with the material. I can't afford to skip.”

Clarke pouts out her lower lip. “Please. For me?”

She wavers, clearly tempted.

“I'll help you study super hard for your first exam, and I won't even tease you about your flashcards. All I'm asking is that you spend the day with me tomorrow.”

“Sounds like I’m getting the sweeter deal.”

“It sure does. That’s just the kind of giving girlfriend I am.”

Lexa snorts. “Alright, but I'm still going rock climbing with Octavia. I've already rescheduled on her twice.”

“As long as I can tag along and watch—I’d never want to miss the opportunity to ogle your ass uninterrupted.”

Lexa laughs and burrows into Clarke’s chest as she tosses the phone aside. “It’s a plan.”

Clarke smiles to herself and wraps her arms around Lexa. “Thank you,” she whispers into her hair.

“Just call me the most giving girlfriend ever,” Lexa teases sleepily.

Clarke doesn’t say anything, just hugs Lexa tighter.

She thinks about how much her life has changed in the past six months while she’s soothed to sleep within minutes by the measured breathing of the most spectacular person she’s ever known—like clockwork.


End file.
